


Sparring

by arby



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Multi, Pre-Slash, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2005-09-11
Updated: 2005-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:48:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arby/pseuds/arby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheppard gets an idea while working out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place before John's promotion, so the use of "Major" is intentional.

Teyla and Sheppard were sparring in the practice room, a frequent down-time diversion of theirs. He thought of it as the alien version of working out – she was his spotter and exercise machine in one. It was fun – she kept him on his toes, and vice versa.

_Smack_ went their staffs as he blocked her attack smoothly, turned it into a counterattack – _thwack_ – almost without thinking. It was like a dance. He watched idly as she bent backwards with unselfconscious grace, admiring the curve of her body in the dim light. Sometimes, he wished they could do some other exercises – just to relieve some... tensions that built up.

She looked at him quizzically, gave him a wary smile. He shook his head and said nothing, tried to sublimate it into the fight. He saw an advantage, given her current position, and tried to pin her in an old wrestling move he'd learned back in high school. For a moment he lay almost on top of her – which did nothing to ease his tension – but almost instantly she got her legs free and flipped him easily so that she sat astride him.

"So, the Athosians are wrestlers now, too, huh?" he panted, making no effort to get out of her grip.

She gave him an inscrutable stare before replying almost skeptically, "Is this a new game of yours, Major?"

"Hey, I didn't invent it," he protested half-heartedly. "It's thousands of years old on Earth."

She felt good – a little too good. Suddenly self-conscious of the growing bulge in his pants beneath her weight, he made as if to get away, saying "Okay, I give – cry Uncle. That means I surrender."

She rolled off him instantly, lay on the mat next to him. He wondered suddenly if he couldn't just be straightforward with her. She was so direct and honest with him – with everyone, really. No matter what happened, at least he would know right off the bat, there'd be no mixed messages of the kind Tauri females specialized in.


	2. Chapter 2

Half an hour later, they were coming to an agreement of the most satisfying kind. Her back arched like a bow as he drove into her, and low moans were drawn out as if against her will. "Major – John" she cried low, gutterally.

Rodney McKay was on his way to his room to fetch some notes when he heard a strange sound coming from Teyla's room. It almost sounded like. . . suddenly he realized what it had to be, and a surge of voyeuristic lust rooted him to the spot. _Maybe she's touching herself in there_, he thought wildly, as his face grew hot and his pants suddenly seemed too tight. _What a pretty picture that would_. . . But the brief fantasy was rudely interrupted by a male voice joining in the chorus of half-heard sounds. _God, I really should go – the last thing I want is to get caught out here peeping – well, listening –_ but sheer curiosity (or so he told himself, later) kept him from moving.

The voice sounded familiar, but it wasn't until they obviously reached climax ("Oh god, Teyla!") that he recognized it. _Sheppard._ He was flooded with a sick disappointment, a horrible combination of lust and bitter loneliness. He now had a different mental picture to go with the soundtrack. No less erotic, really – though he couldn't admit that – but this one was colored with an ugly layer of shame and sadness. Suddenly he remembered that he had to get the hell out of there before he was discovered, and fled the premises ungracefully – not noticing that in his haste he'd left a little souvenir behind.

* * * * *  
Sheppard relaxed, enjoying the afterglow. They were as well matched in this arena as in the sparring room. He devoutly hoped she wasn't going to turn all girly and neurotic on him now. But he had a sinking feeling about it just the same. Maybe he should try to forestall the inevitable. He rolled over and put his arm around her, tried to settle into a nice postcoital nap.

"John?"

_Crap. I knew it._

"Yeah."

"Do you ever have, among your people, a friendship with. . . something more? But without a romance?"

_Holy shit, is she asking what I think she's asking?_

He propped himself on an elbow to look at her. "Um, yeah – I think it's what you mean – it's called 'fuck buddies'." She frowned slightly, so he went on. "Fuck – as in, what we just did" a human girl would flush here, but she did not "which is a swear word, by the way – don't tell Weir I taught you that – and "buddy" meaning friend. Basically it's two people having sex without being in a relationship. Is that what you meant?"

Her face cleared. He could scarcely keep the glee off of his own.

"Yes, that is it exactly. Do you want to be 'fuck buddies' with me?"

"Yes. I'd love to. Now let's go to sleep for a little while, shall we?"

* * * * *  
Rodney dreams their bronzed athletic bodies intertwined, like statues come to life, while he stands in the corner, helplessly throbbing. Exquisite torture of not touching himself – he's not allowed to – until John meets his eyes and suddenly he's awake, lets one hand fall on his aching rod and comes like gangbusters all over the place.


	3. Chapter 3

Sneaking out of Teyla's room like a boy in a girl's dormitory at boarding school, Sheppard found a pencil outside her door labeled "from the desk of Rodney McKay". Looking at it, he experienced a strange mix of emotions – part of him wanted to make fun of Rodney as cruelly and insensitively as possible ("hope he got his rocks off at least – closest he'll get to getting laid all year" har, har) but the other part felt sorry for the guy. _It can't have been so great for him, listening to the two of us getting it on._ He chose not to think about why Rodney would mind – or why John cared if he did. But he pocketed the pencil nonetheless and hoped McKay wouldn't realize that he'd lost it.

* * * * *

Later, in the briefing room, they were listening to someone from one of the less interesting science teams droning on and on. Even Elizabeth was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. Sheppard was watching Rodney think. McKay stared into space, chin in hand, his mind miles away. Sheppard watched as his eyes sharpened and he frowned to himself. His other hand twitched as if he wanted to be taking notes. _I could offer him a pencil_, John thought almost giddily. Then, to maintain some semblance of normalcy, he glanced around the room. Everyone else was stupefied with boredom. Teyla was barely stifling yawns. Certainly no one was paying attention to Sheppard.

Why was he watching McKay (_Rodney_) anyway? He told himself it was out of boredom. It didn't really matter whether or not he believed it.

Rodney was playing with the latest string theory model in his mind, taking it apart to see where it was broken, when he felt the unmistakable sensation of someone staring at him. He turned his head and it was John – no, Sheppard – the _Major_ – that cool grey-green gaze was fixed on _him_, and suddenly he remembered his dream and felt the flush rising in his cheeks, and the Major smiled at him in that lazy way he had and Rodney forced himself to look away. And then Weir was lying to the scientist who had been speaking that their results were very interesting and to keep up the good work, and everyone sighed with relief that the meeting was over. Rodney got up and left the briefing room, trying not to hurry too much to give away the confusion that he felt, and frowning to bely the fluttery sensation in his stomach. He told himself he might be getting sick, it was incipient nausea. And he went back to the lab, where he threw himself into his work and tried not to think about those eyes, that smile.


	4. Chapter 4

John was also confused. The sex with Teyla had been good. He should go back to her quarters and have more of it. After all, he was a red-blooded heterosexual male, wasn't he? So why did he keep thinking about McKay? He remembered what had happened earlier in the meeting. The way Rodney had blushed when he met John's gaze. The odd look in his eyes that deepened when John smiled at him. There had been a chemistry there, something he hadn't quite expected. Rodney was straight, as far as John knew – right? He'd always talked about having a thing for Samantha Carter...but they'd never actually dated, had they? He tried to remember if he'd ever even seen Rodney with a woman on Atlantis. Ford would probably know the scuttlebutt, if there was any, about Rodney's sex life.

_Wait a minute._ This was crazy. Even if Rodney was into guys – even if _John_ might ever, possibly be into guys – what made John think Rodney would be interested in _him_? Last time he checked, John was neither blond nor a scientist, which were the only two things he knew about Rodney's preferences. Sure, he'd been told he was hot, on more than one occasion. He never really believed it though. His hair stuck up, his face was kind of lopsided and his ears were on sideways. He had narrow squinty little eyes of an indeterminate color, unlike Rodney's, which were huge and blue and incapable of deception.

He got up and paced around the room restlessly. This was ridiculous. He refused to let himself sit around moping over Rodney McKay, of all people. He checked his reflection quickly to make sure he didn't have any boogers or anything, then left his quarters.

Ten minutes later (he'd taken the long way, for no particular reason - the fact that that path happened to go by the lab, the cafeteria, _and_ Rodney's room had nothing whatsoever to do with it), Teyla opened the door to his knock. She had obviously been doing the Athosian version of yoga, and had a rosy glow about her. The air was heavy with some kind of ritual incense.

He gave her what he hoped was a smoldering look.

"Major. Please, come in," said she, gracious as always.

"Um, what are you doing?"

"I was performing some stretching and meditation before bed."

He moved closer until he was right in front of her.

"Do you want to do...something else? You know, with me?"

"You mean, 'fuck'?"

Hearing her say that word made him instantly hard. He slipped the strap of her top down one shoulder and breathed, "Yes."

Her eyes half-closed as she tilted her head. They hadn't kissed before by mutual unspoken agreement - it seemed too intimate, somehow - but now she looked like she wanted to be kissed. He did so, slowly and sensually, slipping his tongue into her mouth, and heard her sigh. He ran his hands down her body and cupped her breasts. Something about her felt _wrong_ \- and not just because he wasn't supposed to fuck his subordinates. She was hard in all the wrong places, and soft where she should be hard. She slid her hands beneath his shirt and lifted it up; they broke apart so she could pull it over his head. He looked at her. She wore a sloe-eyed look that was objectively hot, but John felt remote, as if he was watching someone else about to have sex with her. His hands untied the laces on her top and let it fall open, exposing her breasts. Her nipples were hard, standing up like pencil erasers; he pinched them lightly and heard her gasp.

She unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his dick, her gaze strangely intent. He watched her as she knelt to take it in her mouth. Something about the fact that she was on her knees getting ready to service him seemed wrong, like he shouldn't allow it, yet it was also like something straight out of a porn flick. John closed his eyes as she began to suck him, letting his mind go a million miles away. It was only towards the end that he began to moan, as he got closer, and then the orgasm hit him like a wave and he heard his own voice crying out, "God, yes, Rodney!"

He opened his eyes. Teyla was looking at him with a combination of pity, shame and anger. He closed his eyes again in horror. He didn't know what to say. God, what _could_ he say? He opened his eyes again.

"Look--I'm sorry. I...I didn't mean for this to happen," he babbled. She was pulling herself together, lacing up her shirt, and would not look at him.

"Please. Leave me. Let us never speak of this again." Her voice was as cold as he had ever heard it.

He felt horrible. He was an awful, awful person. But there was no hope for it, he had to tuck himself back in, button his pants and slink out of there like the asshole he was.


End file.
